I Hate Myself But I Love You
by King Avery
Summary: Post-Reichenbach. One morbid proposal precedes a more heartfelt one during a night in. T for a little mild language


_**a/n: I don't own Sherlock or the characters or the post that started this fic. It was one saying something along the lines of "I loved you so much that I forgot what hating myself felt like." I knew it would make a cute ficlet. Also, nothing against Mary. I like her character (to a point) but I wasn't letting john get engaged in this storyline.**_

 _ **XxX**_

Six months. Six months since Sherlock had jumped off St. Bart's. Six of the worst months in John's life. He still can't believe that he'd actually done it. That he'd…left. Part of him wants to believe that is really was all a magic trick. If anyone could cheat death it would be Sherlock bloody Holmes.

He looks over his appearance in the mirror one last time before heading out. When he arrives at the graveyard John takes his time going up to the sleek black stone that marks his everything's resting place. This trip is never one he wants to make, but he finds himself doing so every week just to talk. Today would be hard, though; almost as hard as the burial.

"Me again Sherlock," he says softly, resting a hand on the cool marble. "Ella keeps saying I need to get out anything unresolved. There's just too much of it for one visit, but I want to get the biggest thing out. I…was going to wait until the Moriarty case blew over; it did so at least one thing went to plan." John huffs out a humorless, bitter laugh. He slowly pulls a grey velvet box from his coat pocket and opens it to reveal a platinum band nestled into the satin lining. He gently places it atop the stone, keeping his eyes downcast at the name below it.

"That line gets repeated so much nowadays, how you can't love someone if you don't love yourself first. I think that's all shit. I didn't love myself, never did and you know –knew that. But…Oh god! I loved you so much that I forgot what hating myself felt like." John takes a few minutes here to collect himself and wipe the tears he was trying desperately not to shed. When he feels he can continue he asks the question that instead of filling him with joy was loading him with sorrow, "Sherlock, Will you marry me?"

XxX

A year and a half after this morbid proposal Sherlock Holmes comes crashing back into John's life with a cry of "Not Dead." Another few months were spent by John trying to Forgive Sherlock and sort out his life. Sherlock meanwhile was doing anything in his power to make things as they were before. They both are successful in their endeavors despite the efforts of one blonde almost-fiancé. This eventually leads them greasy takeaway and a movie Sherlock had figured out in less than ten minutes on a rare free night.

Somewhere between Ewan McGreggor kissing a stranger and a rather scary rendition of Madonna Sherlock pauses the movie then looks calmly up at John's confused expression.

"Love, you may know what happens but I would like to find out."

"John I have to ask you something," Sherlock says ominously, sitting up from where he'd been lying against John.

The doctor is instantly on high alert; taking Sherlock's posture and face as if he was the one able to deduce people at a glance. "Is everything okay?" he takes one of Sherlock's hands in his to find it trembling with nervous energy.

"Yes, at ease John. Nothing you'd consider bad," Sherlock reassures his blogger with a laugh. He lets john's posture relax a moment then goes into his intended speech. "This is difficult for me, Sentiment and Feelings are not a strong area. This is not something I ever thought I would be doing in my lifetime because of that. Just one of the many things you have managed to change about me. To borrow words from someone I respect deeply: many people believe self acceptance must precede love of another. I find it to be the inverse in my experience. I have never loved myself, at least I never thought about myself within the context of love since University. You, John, have made forget what it felt like to hate myself. I promise my actual death will be the only thing to take me from you again should you agree. John, I'd like you to marry me." At the finish Sherlock brings a familiar grey box out of his dressing gown and holds it open, flashing a familiar ring as well as a matching one in a different size leaning against it.

John blinks at the sight before him for many agonizingly long moments to take this in. "Yes," He whispers so quietly he almost doesn't hear himself. "Yes I will Sherlock," He repeats louder. With his awkward genuine smile Sherlock slides the new ring over John's finger and the old over his own.

"I heard you, which is how I knew the words. I had Mycroft record all activity at my gravesite and watched the recordings while traveling. I looked forward to your weekly visits," Sherlock explains this before John had decided to ask and places a kiss to the cheek of his chocked up fiancé. He then manhandles John back to a comfortable (for Sherlock) position. When he's happy with the placement he leans back into John's jumper-clad chest to resume the film.

A bit further in Sherlock pauses again. "You know hundreds of years ago when one wished to be married they simply stood with their significant other and said "I marry you."

John nods at the new invitation; knowing it is a request from Sherlock. "Sherlock Holmes I marry you," he says softly.

Sherlock smiles, laying a hand over the one John had lain over his chest. "I marry you John Watson."

After the next big number John chuckles, causing his chest to rumble beneath Sherlock's ear. "You realize I will still be planning a ceremony for our families to attend?"

"It was worth a try." Both men begin laughing like children. Their shared mirth takes a great deal of time to die down and they have to rewind the film to understand what was happening.

The next time their movie is paused it is john's doing. "Why tonight? This seems rather spontaneous for you."

Sherlock shrugs as much as someone can shrug leant against another person. "This movie will end sadly. Making you happy now will lessen the sadness you will feel later."

"Ah, okay," John scoffs. "How sweet of you," he says sarcastically. "What's the real reason?"

"I've wanted to since I returned. Now seemed as good a time as any. Now, John, play this so it can end and we can check for a case."

John's amused laugh rumbles in his ear again as he presses play on Moulin Rouge for the umpteenth time that night.


End file.
